


Mine: Everyone Knows

by bzarcher



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: ABO, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Caution, Consent, Cuddling, Implied Gingerspider, Implied Lemon Tea Maker, Implied Widowtracer, Lemon Tea, Medication, Multi, Past Abuse, Past Character Death, Perception vs. Reality, Secrets, Suprisingly little porn, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 09:07:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12055758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bzarcher/pseuds/bzarcher
Summary: Everyone knows Widowmaker must be an Alpha.Everyone knows Tracer must be, too.Everyone knows Emily has to be an Omega.But what people "know" and the truth are very different things.





	1. Chapter 1

Everyone knows Widowmaker must be an Alpha.

The catsuit. The attitude. The _ruthlessness_.

What else could she be?

No one seemed to ask what Amélie Guillard had been. Even those very few who might have had enough access to view the medical records from her former life would have likely assumed that, somehow, Talon had managed to alter _that_ , too.

No one considered that some things are ingrained so deeply that even Talon’s influence could not rewrite them...but that perhaps they could be made to serve another purpose.

No one ever looked at the way Widowmaker pursued her targets with an almost monomaniacal dedication, and compared it to the way an Omega in heat would seek their mate.

No one ever considered that her dedication to Talon’s orders was not so different to the way an Omega would submit.

No one could ask the one man who might have answered the question.

No one would ever hear him chuckle and shake his head if someone had.

“Ahhh,” he’d would have said with an infuriating little smile, “but you would know if you had ever seen her dance.”

Everyone knows Widowmaker must be an Alpha.

No one knows the truth died with Gérard.

* * *

Everyone knows Tracer must be an Alpha.

She was a fighter pilot, after all. Aggressive. Driven. The _Slipstream_ project had demanded the best of the best.

It made so much sense.

Who else but an Alpha would be so relentlessly cocky?

Who else but an Alpha would be crazy enough to sign up to be a test pilot, and strap on a plane as likely to explode in her face as soar through the skies - _before_ she gained the ability to rewind time or teleport herself to safety.

Who else but an Alpha would have such strength of will as to claw her way back from wherever Lena Oxton had gone when the _Slipstream_ disappeared?

Who else but an Alpha would stand up to Morrison the way she had - and as a _cadet!_

No one ever seemed to realize that cockiness was not an exclusive trait to Alphas.

No one ever considered that fighter pilots might be aggressive, and driven, but they worked best _as a unit_.

No one ever would have guessed that a Beta would be strong enough, passionate enough, _desperate_ enough to find her way home after the _Slipstream_.

No one would expect a Beta to be such a skilled pilot that Overwatch would take notice of her.

No one considered that the very essence of how Lena fought as Tracer was to protect and support her pack.

Everyone knows Tracer must be an Alpha.

Wasn’t it remarkable how well she works with so many others?

* * *

Everyone knows Emily must be an Omega.

After all, if Tracer is an Alpha, why would she seek out any other?

So patient. So loving. So understanding.

What else could she be?

It seemed like she lived to help others. You’d expect nothing less.

If she preferred to stay in London, to live and work there instead of following Lena to Gibraltar like so many others, well. Wasn’t an Omega’s place so often in the home?

Weren’t they at their best when caring for their mate?

Who better than an Omega like Emily for an Alpha who had been through so much as Tracer?

And if no one in Overwatch had ever seen Tracer rut or Emily appear to be in heat, well, they _did_ make suppressants for a reason, and it wasn’t anyone’s business to pry.

No one considered there were many kinds of strength, and many ways to show them.

No one seemed to realize that being a bulwark for her lover - of maintaining a serene island of normality that Lena could retreat into when she just wanted to be a girl from King’s Row, and not a time hopping hero - took rather a _lot_ of effort, actually.

No one wondered if there might be a _reason_ she kept her home where it was, and it might have nothing to do with something as mundane as a job.

No one gave Betas enough credit, in Emily’s opinion.

Without them, who would _ever_ get anything done?


	2. Chapter 2

Emily had turned to face the window when she heard it opening, and her eyes were full of concern.

Widowmaker tried to keep her hands from shaking when her gold eyes met Emily’s grey. Tried not to think about what it would look like if she had that beautiful face in the crosshairs of her scope. What that lovely head of flame red hair would look like if she pulled the trigger.

“It’s time,” she rasped in a low voice. “I can’t…”

Emily’s nostrils flared as she took a deep breath, then nodded. “I can smell it.” She reached out her hand, and gestured towards the hallway that led to the little flat’s bedroom. “Lena will be back soon - she just went out for milk.”

Widowmaker nodded as she slid the rest of the way inside, and closed the window behind her.

In her way, she knew, Emily was taking the greatest risk of them all. Talon would do horrible things to Widowmaker, if she were recaptured. Overwatch would be infuriated, if they knew Tracer had been giving comfort to her old enemy, but Emily would stand to lose her entire life - her career, her licenses, her freedom - if she were caught stealing the drugs she’d been using to help provide what was essentially addiction therapy. Trying to help decouple Amélie’s natural heats from the near constant artificial ones Talon had induced in her for their own purposes. Working to channel her needs away from the violence and killing that had been instilled into her until they could, hopefully, re-establish her natural cycles.

Giving Widowmaker _control_ of herself, after nearly a decade of feeling as if she had none at all.

She sat on the bed as Emily slipped into the bathroom, sliding off her recon visor before she undid the elastic that kept her hair in its usual ponytail, and wrapping the black band around her wrist.

Emily emerged with two pill bottles, a vial of some clear fluid, and a syringe. Widowmaker never tried to find where she hid them. Even at her most desperate, she knew that there was as much danger in too much as not enough. Better to let the professional handle this.

“How long…?”

Widowmaker considered that for a moment. “A few days, I think. No more than four. At first, I was able to control myself, but…” She swallowed, and shivered with a mix of delight and revulsion as she remembered the fantasies she’d started to have the day before. Some healthy, some not. How _good_ it had felt to imagine putting a bullet through a particularly annoying waiter’s skull after he’d botched her lunch order. The ecstasy she would have felt as Widow’s Kiss reduced his brains to a fine pink mist.

She remembered how she’d sat on the patio at the chateau and thrilled at the idea of a skilled and eager tongue exploring her as she reclined on her favorite _chaise_ , where anyone who might have a good enough pair of binoculars could watch as she tightened her fingers in messy chestnut hair. Of a voice with a softer but equally foreign accent cooing encouragement in their ears, and pale, freckled fingers teasing her breast.

Emily nodded, her mouth drawn in a thoughtful frown. “Have you done...anything?”

Widowmaker shook her head, a bit of guilt in her eyes. “I thought about trying to touch myself. To use a toy or two. But I wasn’t sure it would be enough.” She looked up. “I booked the plane ticket when I started to think about...other alternatives.”

Emily took that on board, and then began carefully filling the syringe. “OK. Thank you for being honest - it does help.” She tapped the syringe to make sure there would be no air bubbles, then looked back to where Widowmaker had extended her arms so she could look for a good vein. “We would come there, you know. All you have to do is call.”

“No,” Widowmaker said flatly, then her expression softened. “I know you mean well with that offer, _ma belle_ , but no. It...helps...to be here.”

Emily’s smile was a bit sad, but it had a layer of understanding. “I suppose I can see how it might.” Deft fingers examined her, and in a few moments Emily was lightly tapping one of the veins in her right arm. “That seems like a good one. Ready?”

Widowmaker made a fist, tightening it and relaxing twice before she curled her fingers and held them there. “ _Je suis prete._ ”

“I swear you do that just to see if you can distract me,” Emily mumbled as she carefully slid the needle into her skin, ensuring she had a good stick before she pushed the plunger home and sent the medication into her bloodstream.

Widowmaker didn’t know exactly what was in it, but it always felt as if lukewarm water was traveling through her as it spread into her system, thawing the chill that she associated with Talon’s passionless artificial urge and cooling the more natural but still almost overwhelming warmth that signaled her true heat.

It took time, but after a few minutes of breathing exercises and answering a few more of Emily’s questions, she finally began to feel something like a proper equilibrium again.

“I have some sedatives,” Emily offered, picking up one of the pill bottles and showing it to her. “Painkillers, too. Do you need either?”

The first few attempts at treatment had been excruciating, and knocking her out hadn’t been the perfect solution, but Widowmaker would admit it had _worked_.

Now, though...she felt a bit stiff and achy, but it wasn’t overwhelming. She didn’t feel an irrational anger or the dangerous manic state she’d fallen into a few times.

“Painkillers, but a low dose,” she finally answered. “Just for some aches and the soreness.”

Emily disappeared into the kitchen for a moment, returning with a glass of ice water, and shook one tablet of ibuprofen from the bottle. “Here, then. But if you change your mind, tell me - I don’t want any suffering in silence.”

Widowmaker washed down the pill and looked in vain for a coaster before setting the glass on the nightstand. “I will tell you,” she promised.

She’d plucked a piece of ice from the glass and had been considering the variation between smooth and pebbled textures on the cube’s chilly surface against her skin when the sound of a door opening caught her attention.

“Home!” Lena’s voice was a combination of annoyed and relieved as it carried back from the foyer, the sound of her footsteps drawing closer as she shut the door and carried her shopping to the kitchen. “Sorry I took so long - I _swear_ the daftest people go to Tesco in the middle of the night.”

Emily shared a knowing look with Widowmaker, her mouth turning up into a wicked little grin. “So what does that make you, exactly?”

“Oi!” Lena managed to sound _entirely_ offended at becoming the butt of her own joke. “ _I_ wasn’t the one holding up the line arguing about sale prices - or the bellend of a manager who just stood there while the poor cashier got screamed at instead of telling the bloke to pay up or get out.”

“I suppose not,” Emily admitted with a chuckle. “Anyway - put things away and come back, would you? We’ve got company over.”

“Right,” Lena called back. “Hullo, luv. Smelled you when I got in - you doing OK?”

“I wasn’t,” Widowmaker admitted as she pitched her voice so it would carry to the kitchen, “but...I will be soon.”

“Poor thing,” Lena tutted to the sound of cabinet drawers being opened, and the thump and rattle of the refrigerator’s contents being rearranged. “Get you a glass of water?”

“Already did,” Emily answered. “Just bring yourself, mm?”

“Got it, got it…”

When she came back to the bedroom, Lena hardly looked like the spitfire hellion who had chased Widowmaker up and down King’s Row (Numbani, Ilios, Dorado, and so many other places…) Her accelerator was loosely belted on, yes, but she was wearing it over an old football shirt and a pair of much abused cargo pants, not her usual tights, compression top, and jacket. Lena’s hair was _slightly_ less dramatically styled, and instead of those horrific running shoes she had a pair of grey wool socks, her _almost_ as horrific sandals left by the front door.

“Hey,” Lena said softly as she settled onto the bed. “Whatcha lookin’ at?”

Widowmaker reached out and took her hand, a little smile playing across her lips. “An annoyance.”

Lena laughed at their little ritual - the words that stood in for so many more, then squeezed her fingers gently before smiling up to Emily as she returned from putting everything away in the bathroom. “All done?”

Emily nodded. “It’s a new record, by the way. Ten and a half weeks since the last treatment.”

Lena whistled. “Almost three months. Getting closer to what would be a normal cycle in most people.”

Widowmaker couldn’t help the twist of bitterness that rose in her stomach. “Normal...has not applied to me in quite some time.”

“No,” Emily admitted as she settled down on her other side. “But you are also not ‘most people’, either.”

“She’s right,” Lena agreed. “You’re special. _Different_ , yeah, but that has nothing to do with what you went through. It’s because you are _you_.”

Widowmaker sighed softly, and let the two Betas hold her. “I want to believe you.”

Emily’s lips gently pressed against her temple, her voice felt in the vibrations against her skin as much as it was heard. “Can you tell us what you want right now?”

 _I want to be able to enjoy this again,_ Widowmaker thought bitterly.

 _I want to_ **_want_** _,_ Amélie murmured in the deepest part of herself.

“I think I would like to watch a movie,” Widowmaker finally said aloud. “Until...I know.”

Until her hands stopped shaking.

Until her thoughts were a bit clearer.

Until her skin no longer felt like it was freezing and burning all at once.

Until she knew that she was _choosing_ and not _succumbing_.

Until she knew it would be _safe_.

If either of them saw the turmoil that churned inside her before she answered, neither said anything.

Lena kissed her cheek lightly, giving one last squeeze before she stood. “Sure. I’ll get the blankets for the couch. Popcorn? I can make cocoa now that we’ve got more milk.”

Widowmaker shook her head. “I just want the movie, and the two of you.”

Emily chuckled. “That can be arranged.”

She waited for Emily to go into the living room before she stripped out of her suit, folding the soft, skintight layer and placing the hard armored sections atop it in a pile. She walked to the dresser and took out the purple pyjama pants that Emily had purchased for her, the fabric covered in a pattern of little black spiders, and the black tank top made of soft cotton that would not irritate her skin.

She let Lena wrap a thin fleece blanket around her shoulders before she settled on the couch between them, and Emily drew a larger quilt over them all.

She didn’t really pay attention to the film. Some movie about thieves pulling an overly complex heist to rob a bank, or perhaps it was a casino. She was sure Sombra would have loved it.

For that matter, Sombra probably had a heist like this on her bucket list. It seemed like the sort of thing the hacker would do for fun.

Widowmaker let herself drift off under the warmth and the sounds of conversation from the television, the thoughts of violence further and further away. Not completely asleep, but not entirely awake, either.

When Emily’s head came to rest on her shoulder she closed her eyes.

When Lena’s body settled against hers she sighed softly.

They stayed like that until well after the movie’s credits began to roll, when Emily finally stood up and offered her hand. “How are you feeling now?”

Widowmaker considered that for a long moment. Her hands had stopped shaking some time ago. The urges and intrusive thoughts had gradually faded. She still felt a lingering warmth that was from more than blankets or body heat, but it no longer felt relentless or overwhelming.

“Better,” she finally answered, and let Emily haul her up to her feet.

“I made up the spare bed,” Emily offered softly, “just in case.”

Widowmaker shook her head. She wanted to laugh, but she didn’t want it to be misinterpreted. Emily _always_ made up the spare bed.

Not once had she used it by choice.

It is gallant, and kind, and heartbreaking in its own way. The silent offer that this could be enough. That she always has the right to refuse. That she could crawl into a cold bed with sheets that do not smell like anyone, be alone, be _safe_.

Be _miserable_.

Widowmaker kissed Emily lightly, and she tasted of tea and vanilla. “I know.”

Emily smiled, and gently poked Lena in the shoulder to rouse her. “Come on, you. Time for bed.”

Lena stretched, her jaw popping as she yawned, and rubbed at her eyes as she stood. “I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen the end of that one. Same thing, every time.”

“Maybe one day we’ll start the movie at a reasonable hour,” Emily teased as she lead the way into the bedroom.

That got rolled eyes and quiet giggles in reply, and it wasn’t long before they were settling into the bed. Widowmaker and Emily still dressed in their nightclothes, Lena’s accelerator left in the charging rack, her clothes tossed in the hamper aside from the boyshorts she wore to bed.

In the morning, perhaps, Widowmaker would be ready to trust herself. Ready for more than drowsy kisses and the feeling of warmth on either side of her, one woman’s arm snugged around her at the waist, the other resting against her shoulder.

For now, as she listened to Emily’s breathing deepen and slow, and felt Lena’s body relax against her back, it was enough.

She relished the feeling of safety that rose in her when she closed her eyes. At the way the ache in her chest seemed to ease when their scents filled her nose. Why she always came  _here_ , and never asked them to travel to the drafty chateau that despite her best efforts had never felt like a home.

The same reason she brought Lena back here on a night where she finally hit her mark, so that Emily could mend the wound.

The same reason she broke a man’s arm in three places for trying to steal Emily’s purse.

The same thought that made her lips turn up in a little smile as she slipped back into sleep, that she feels in these quiet moments between them.

_Mine._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Lunari for letting me join in on the fun!


End file.
